


The Weight of a Kiss

by Cavalierious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, But not always, Canon-Compliant, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Happy Ending, Kisses, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly on the Cheek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavalierious/pseuds/Cavalierious
Summary: Five times that kisses are greetings, and the one time they aren't. Funny, how things change.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 107





	The Weight of a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to try my hand at a 5+1 fic.

_ A kiss that is never tasted, is forever and ever wasted. _

1.

Felix is a scrawny little thing. It’s the first thought that comes to Sylvain. He’s got the same coloring as Glenn even if he’s only half his brother’s height. He shies away, fingers gripping at Glenn’s trousers tightly. Sylvain waits patiently as Glenn reaches around, urging Felix forward. Just a gentle hand against his back.

“Come on, Felix,” says Glenn. Felix is surprisingly stubborn in his own right, unwilling to budge at first. 

“It’s alright,” says Sylvain to Glenn. “He can take his time.”

“Felix,” says Glenn once more, gentler, like coaxing a newborn fawn. “Just a hello, that’s all that’s needed. And then you can leave.”

The way that Felix pouts is adorable, his cheeks puffed out slightly as he surveys Sylvain with a wary look. 

“I don’t bite,” says Sylvain, thinking that it might help.

Felix finally steps forward until he’s right before Sylvain. The cool springtime breeze lifts his bangs from his forehead. Felix stares from underneath long eyelashes, dark amber eyes watching Sylvain with a calculating stare. Interesting, Sylvain thinks. Felix might be a shy crybaby, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. 

“You don’t bite,” says Felix. More a statement than a question, an acute observation.

“I promise,” says Sylvain. 

Felix purses his lips and then says, “Shame. Glenn needs someone to knock him down a peg.”

Sylvain’s mouth falls open and he glances at Glenn. They’re far enough that he can’t hear the exchanged words, but Glenn’s prone to having a biting wit. He wouldn’t have found the comment amusing, not as Sylvain does.

Or Felix, judging by the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, Sylvain’s not sure if it’s a joke. 

“A proper greeting is expected,” says Glenn from behind them, breaking their quiet moment. Sylvain doesn’t miss the sly, amused smile that he wears. 

“Right,” says Sylvain. 

_ “Ugh,” _ says Felix. Still, he stands straight and readies himself. 

Sylvain leans forward, gripping Felix by the shoulders gently. He presses a kiss to one cheek, and then the other. Felix repeats the gesture, Sylvain having to lean over slightly for him to reach. When they’re done, they pull back, staring awkwardly at each other. 

Then, Felix makes a gagging sound, pretending to retch. 

Sylvain follows suit, saying, “Gross. So, so gross.”

Glenn laughs loudly, amused by their reaction to expected societal customs. At least, he laughs until he has to follow suit. 

2.

Over the years, it becomes kind of a game to them. Well, more so for Sylvain. Felix tries his best to disappear and skip formal greetings entirely. He rarely succeeds, Glenn dragging him to the front of the manor by his shirt sleeve. 

Felix looks more and more like Glenn every year. At eleven, Felix is past his crybaby stage for the most part and now spends his days emulating his older brother. Glenn’s a good guy, but Sylvain wonders if his personality is one to be adopted. But, with Glenn, as a knight now and rarely home, Sylvain knows that Felix will do whatever possible to cling to what he still can.

They’re close in height now, Felix’s amber eyes nearly level with his gaze. Now, or never, Sylvain thinks. Just get it over with. Sylvain leans over to press the sloppiest kiss that he can manage across Felix’s cheek. 

“Disgusting,” snaps Felix, already pushing Sylvain away before he can plant one on his other cheek. 

“Oh come on,” says Sylvain, “It’s proper.”

“Properly annoying,” says Felix. His hand finds Sylvain’s face, pushing at it hard. 

Sylvain snorts before trying again. “Our fathers are watching.”

At that, Felix stops resisting, letting out a loud sigh instead. “Formality can kiss my ass,” murmurs Felix.

Sylvain pauses at that, still holding Felix’s face between his palms. “Since when have you cursed in such a way?”

“I only learn from the best,” says Felix. They both look to Glenn who smirks right back. The best, indeed. Then Felix says, “Well then, get on with it.”

Sylvain lets out a soft laugh and pecks Felix’s other cheek lightly, giving him a rest from their usual antics. It’s Felix’s turn next, reaching out and grasping Sylvain by the shoulders. His face is terse and serious as usual when he leans forward.

The kiss is soft against his cheek, and then again on the other. Then, Felix’s hand darts out, finding its target easily on Sylvain’s chest. Felix squeezes Sylvian’s nipple tight through his linen shirt and roughly twists.

Sylvain yelps, falling over, watching as Felix runs away with a smirk. 

Rodrigue can barely hide a smile behind his hand. Sylvain’s father’s mouth is pulled into a terse frown. Glenn’s nearly doubled over with raucous laughter. 

And Felix is long gone, having entirely disappeared. Sylvain grunts as he finds his footing again. He’s going to  _ kill _ him the next time that they spar.

3.

Sylvain doesn’t want to be here. It’s a foreign feeling, nearly incomprehensible. Fraldarius manor has always been a place of respite for him, but now it’s just dark and foreboding. The dark cloud that hangs over it permeates everything around them. 

Glenn’s dead, far before his time, and doing what he did best; protecting those that he loves. Sylvain wonders what makes Felix angrier; that Glenn is gone, or that his brother died protecting Dimitri, and not him. 

Felix, for once, meets them at the front of the manor, hands clasped behind him properly. He looks like he’s aged five years. He looks angry and sad and depressed. He looks like a shell of himself, barely there, quiet and distant. 

He doesn’t look at Sylvain, he looks right through him.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, his voice quiet. He doesn’t know how to do this, he doesn’t know how to approach him. He feels utterly suffocated; by expectations and propriety, by the weight of war on the horizon, and the way that Felix looks like he’s just about died on the inside. 

Sylvain misses Glenn, but not as much as he misses his best friend. 

“Sylvain,” says Felix. His tone is curt, almost unfeeling, but Sylvain knows that it’s not directed at him. Felix has never dealt with his feelings well, lashing out at the slightest of things. Glenn’s always helped temper him. Without him here, Felix is a dark ball of angst with nothing to butt heads against. 

That worries Sylvain. 

For the first time, Sylvain thinks, he wants to greet Felix the proper way. Felix will likely hate it, but Sylvain’s the kind of person who grounds himself through touch. He reaches out, fingers sliding along Felix’s shoulders. Felix is thirteen, too young to look so old and broken.

Sylvain leans forward. Felix’s cheeks are cold against his lips and he stiffens against Sylvain’s hold. One kiss, and then two. When Sylvain pulls back, Felix’s hand lashes out, fingers curling into his sleeve tightly. 

They both freeze. There’s a beat, and then Felix says, “Don’t. Don’t leave me as he did.” Felix makes no move to return the greeting, but the look that he gives Sylvain is utterly heartbreaking. 

“Oh, Felix,” says Sylvain, pulling him in close for a hug. Proper manners be damned, he doesn’t care. Felix is hurting, Sylvain’s hurting, the entire damn household is hurting. “I won’t, I promise. The only way I’ll leave is if we die together.”

“A promise,” says Felix. “A promise never to leave each other.”

But even as he says the words, Sylvain wonders if it’s a promise that he can keep.

4.

As it turns out, Sylvain’s shit at keeping promises. 

Years pass and things change. Felix does what his father asks and sets on the path to becoming a knight. Even if it’s the last thing that he wants. He goes off with Dimitri, only to come back angry and sardonic and calling their prince a  _ Boar. _

Meanwhile, Sylvain’s father leads with the expectation of marrying him off early for even earlier grandchildren. Sylvain wants nothing to do with that at sixteen, seventeen, even eighteen. He wears women on his sleeve because it’s easier than commitment, and he doesn’t care what the lasting effects might be. 

He sees Felix again when he’s nineteen and his heart flips upside down, seizing in an unfamiliar way. Felix looks less like Glenn and more like himself, and Sylvain finds that he cannot stop staring.

Ingrid punches him across the shoulder and tells him to pick his jaw up off the ground. Then, she tells him to not even think about it. 

When Felix greets him, his lips are tugged into a frown. 

“You didn’t write,” says Sylvain, his tongue strangely tied. 

Felix frowns. “Neither did you.”

No, Sylvain hadn’t. Sylvain had been too busy dodging his father, dodging marriage proposals, and dodging responsibility. Not that Felix is any better; he’d run off to squire, following in Glenn’s footsteps, anything to get himself killed early. The ultimate honor in the wake of his dead brother.

The two of them are a mess, Sylvain thinks, and not for the first time. 

Felix is the one to reach out first, finely boned fingers sliding along Sylvain’s broad shoulders. Sylvain towers over him nowadays, so he leans over, as expected. Felix kisses one cheek, rather aggressively, and then the other, and then pulls back stiffly.

When Sylvain repeats the gesture, it’s softer and with more poise, but that almost makes it worse. When he pulls away, Felix scoffs, scowling at him angrily. His gaze drops from Sylvain’s face, down to his feet and then he sneers. 

“I’ve heard the stories,” says Felix. “Ingrid’s told me. Don’t expect me to peel you up after I find you drunk on a tavern floor. That’s on you.”

Years before, the harsh words would have been joking, maybe even funny. But now, they sound bitter and sour. 

Sylvain wonders what it is that made Felix so. 

5.

Five years is a long time, and yet, it passes in a flash. 

Sylvain’s been north, hunting down Adrestian troops that find their way into his lands. Meanwhile, his father holds the fortress, and with it, Sreng. The country isn’t above using wartime to launch strategically placed attacks. 

He’s weary. He’s tired. It’s been a long day of battle and reunification. The Professor’s alive by some fucking miracle. Sylvain needs a woman, a cup of strong wine, and a bed. 

At least, it’s what he thinks until he sees Felix, bloodstained and hardened, a shell of the boy he once was. Sylvain stares at him in surprise, wondering how he could have ever thought he’d looked like Glenn. 

And, while most lose those harsh edges and the chips on their shoulders as they age, Felix hasn’t. He’s only gotten worse it seems, snapping acerbic quips at anyone who comes his way. Ingrid, bless her soul tries. And fails. 

“Felix,” says Sylvain as Mercedes heals his arm. He’s got a pretty terrible gash and the warmth from her hand is welcome. 

Felix doesn’t say anything, but he does look at him with hollowed-out eyes. Sylvain swallows. He’s handsome, beautiful even, in his own way. Sylvain’s never felt his heart twist like this. And then Felix sneers, annoyed, and looks the other direction. 

It feels like a loss. There will be no kisses or cheeks cradled gently by fingers, despite how annoying manners can be. Sylvain wants the familiarity of it, he misses being normal because nothing is anymore. Everything’s gone to shit. 

Sylvian’s surprised at how much he yearns for even a crumb of recognition in Felix’s cold, dead stare. 

Mercedes hums, her fingers rubbing along the skin of his forearm lightly. “At least he looked at you,” she says. “That’s more than the rest of us.”

Perhaps it’s not as much of a loss as he thought, but it stings all the same.

+1

It’s strange being here. 

The Gautier Fortress rises above him, cold and empty. It doesn’t feel like home. If Sylvain had his choice, he’d never step foot here again. But, the Margrave is dead and Sylvain’s been saddled with responsibility since before he could walk. 

He reaches out, resting a hand against the cold stone of the archway. 

He misses his mother. 

“Sylvain,” calls a voice from behind him. A voice that shouldn’t be there. A voice that Sylvain had thought he’d never hear again. 

Felix had been very clear in his intent the last time they’d spoken. He’d leave and go far away, living by his sword, and dying by it too. Their promise would be broken because that’s what they do best. 

Sylvain turns. Felix has already jumped down from his horse and is marching up the stairs. Sylvain shouldn’t be here, but neither should Felix. 

“Felix,” says Sylvain. 

When Felix stops before Sylvain, he hesitates, mouth twisting slightly as he thinks. He doesn’t know what to say; he clearly hadn’t planned this. That’s unlike him, Sylvain thinks. Felix is ever calculating, planning things to the tee. Sylvain’s the one that takes risks. 

Except for lately. He hasn’t taken a risk in what feels like years. 

“Well then,” says Felix, irate. “Get on with it.”

It takes Sylvain a moment to realize what he means. Manners and propriety haven’t been a part of their life in nearly a decade. Instead, Sylvain says, “You’re here.”

“Glad to know you aren’t blind,” says Felix. A pause, and then, “Get on with it.”

Sylvain wants to reach out to him and pull him close. His fingers are itching to curl into Felix’s hair and brushing it back, scratching at his scalp. The way he used to when they shared a bedroll in a single tent, keeping warm on the cold nights and waiting for the end to come. 

They’ve never talked about that. 

Sylvain reaches out tentatively. Felix’s shoulders are slight compared to his own, but no less powerful. He grips them tightly and pulls Felix forward. Felix follows easily, willingly, eagerly, even. Odd. 

A kiss to his right cheek, Sylvain’s mouth lingering. And then he presses in for the left and Felix turns his head. Their lips meet and sparks fly and they’re kissing. Felix is aggressive, pulling Sylvain closer, his mouth slipping open as he tries to stake his claim. 

All they’ve ever done and they’ve never done this. A kiss hasn’t ever meant so much, and Sylvain cradles Felix’s cheek, thumb sliding across his cheekbone, trying to temper the movement. Felix reluctantly acquiesces, pressing against Sylvain slower and softer, with a tentative arch of his back. 

When they part, they’re both breathing heavily. Sylvain stares into Felix’s eyes and he sees so much there, so much that’s waiting to be said. So much that Felix probably never will because he’s emotionally stunted on his best of days. 

But still, Sylvain loves him, he’s loved him for years. 

“You’re here,” says Sylvain again, still cupping Felix’s jaw. 

“I’m here,” says Felix. “I promised.”

Sylvain wants to cry. Or laugh. Or die. Instead, he leans down to kiss him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/_Cavalierious_)


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